Of All Places!
by Joby87
Summary: One-shot crack fic. About Dean's little visit to the doctor's office and discovering he has something never in a million years he'd thought he'd get...and no, it's not a STD. Not for the squeamish. Read at your own risk! REVISED 03/29/10


**Hi Guys. I had totally dreamt of this plot as I was insanely trying to fall asleep one night. Since nothing worked to get a few 'z's, I decided to type this up instead. It's a medical/crack fic. I've never done one of those, so I'm dying to find out what you think. It might not be funny, but who knows! This is actually based off a real life experience from one of my friends (don't worry, he knows about it!) and I had to put it down. Try to enjoy it if you can....**

Dean Winchester couldn't believe his luck as he lied upon an examination table in the middle of the main procedure room at a local doctor's clinic.

Looking around for some decent source of entertainment while waiting on the doctor to return, he realized it was official: the Winchesters lived off bad luck, and nothing else. Usually it never really mattered to Dean, but after this little doctor's visit, he probably would have preferred to be living on no luck at all.

Of all places to be hurting? Of all places that suddenly realized it was important and decided to impede him from continuing on with his eternal road trip in tracking down and destroying Satan's helpers?

Yes, he could believe it. Somehow he pissed off Lady Luck, and this was the spiffy fairy's sinister payback.

Waiting for what he was sure was "a bit more than awhile", Dean began to hum to himself in an attempt to alleviate some of the nervousness that bloomed while waiting on the doc's prognosis. Kneeling his head down on the jade-green plastic mattress, he found it better admiring its botched artistic design, rather than exploring the insanely boring pillow-white walls and cluttered countertops as a source of entertainment to help settle his unease. There were a couple of laminated educational booklets suspended on the far right wall, but they were too far to read. Had he'd been allowed to move from his somewhat uncomfortable prone position, he was sure to have read the intricate _Made-for-the-Dumb_ pamphlets front to back three times over by now.

The air-conditioner located in the far corner of the room buzzed creating a chilly draft to flow throughout the small interior. A passage of icy airflow caught beneath the hem of the plastic wrap covering his lower body and partly lifted it; the prickly stings on the warm and tender flesh regretfully reminding him of the reason why he was there in the first place.

It all started ever since a little tumble down a flight of stairs while fleeing from a poltergeist in a run-down house. A particular ache sprouted at the base of his rump and never waned.

He could've killed Sam. All the roiling emotions and humiliation sparked from this experience, and steadfastly accumulating, he deliberately honed in on the abnormally lean and gentle giant. Part of him knew his little brother was to blame for why he was dealing with an odd anomaly festering off his backside. Another part of him knew his brother was taking great amusement at his plight, probably considering this as _EVEN_ for all the teasing and brotherly banter he'd put him through on a daily basis.

Though fuming and suffering quite childishly in embarrassment, another part of his menopausal subconscious couldn't entirely place full responsibility on his shy, puppy-dogged face sibling. The two of them were running with their arms tangled over their heads while ducking and dodging all sorts of levitating and flying hazardous objects. But if the punk were able to watch his gorilla-sized feet, he wouldn't have accidentally tripped on the third uneven step and fell pulling his big brother down along with him for the duration of the thirty or so stairs.

_Yeah, that did hurt a bit_, Dean recollected as he tried settling into another comfortable position by pushing himself back onto his elbows.

But after the fall, the two of them were able to get up, brush themselves off, get rid of the evil fiend and call it a day. The soreness from the fall, however, seemed to grow with each subsequent day and a week later Dean found himself having a hard time sitting down. At first he either thought he broke or bruised his butt-bone, but now he was fairly uncertain and equally intrigued when a small bump formed at the base of his tailbone.

It was a few days after that when his brother suggested that he have it checked out, obviously picking up on the continual prolonged grimace and the way he sat on the side of his hip in the Impala, just to be able to drive.

_Talk about awkward position_, another sarcastic thought flashed at the recent memory resulting in a sheepish smirk.

The half smirk suddenly switched to a shocked cringe when the anomaly unexpectedly began singing soprano, forcing him to resort back to his previous position. Though now lying flat on his stomach, the anomaly's tone dropped down laggardly to an alto, then to a tenor, then finally ending on bass…but no matter how much the sting lessened, it still forced him to grit his teeth. Whatever this friggin' thing was, it seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. Even laying down was becoming a task!

Dean finally acquiesced to Sam's suggestion when he woke one morning feeling things a bit _wet_ back there and the now golf-ball sized _bump_ stung like a mofo. He thought he would be able to deal with the sudden acute sensitivity, but when he tried to lift himself off the bed, the jarring movement caused the _bump_ to flare even more. At that moment, he probably would have preferred to go one-on-one with a caged lion than deal with the fiery pang that escalated. After a few more tries, he finally was able to get off the bed, but then walking became another labor all on its own.

The decision was made. It was time to go see the doctor.

And that was where he was now: waiting on what the man had to say after he looked at the _bump_. He half-wished the physician would hurry up, because he felt extremely awkward lying there with his bare ass half-exposed, and having to deal with the pulsating throb the _bump_ took on after the doctor assessed it.

Finally after a few more agonizingly entertainment-less moments, the doctor -a tall man that eerily reminded Dean of a muscular version of _CryBaby_- stepped in with a broad creepy smile carrying a clipboard of papers. Though this man was no Johnny Depp, he still seemed exuberant and eccentric. Setting the clipboard aside, the doctor sat on the edge of the counter and gazed at his patient with the still creepy smile. "Okay Mr. Winchester, I checked you out and it turns out you have jeep-riders butt."

Dean looked positively dumbstruck, "I have what?" _Jeep-riders butt, what the hell? I don't drive a jeep. _

"Jeep-riders butt," _Crybaby_ repeated. "Basically you've developed a pilonidal cyst along your coccyx. Usually it's common in men, but as I can see you're not obese, under the age of twenty-five, or..."

"Get back to the jeep doc!"

The doctor jerked at Dean's sudden interruption. Clearing his throat, he continued, "It gets its name from _World War Two_ where many soldiers developed them from sitting or riding in the jeeps all day. They didn't have proper seat cushions like we have today to protect them from trauma in that area, and so the rate was pretty consistent."

"Ah! Thanks for the history lesson doc. Glad I came to class. But excuse me when I say _huh_?" Dean replied sarcastically.

"What you have is an abscess. The cyst became infected. As it appears that you don't fit most of the causes, I have to ask, have you had any recent injury to your tailbone...like a fall or ride a hard surface like a bike?"

Dean gritted his teeth in annoyance. Yeah, he had a recent fall all right. He was so going to kill his brother after this. "Yeah," he confessed reluctantly.

"Well then that explains how the abscess formed."

"Infection, huh? Kinda explains why it's all gooey back there, right?" Dean asked, somewhat uncomfortable.

"Yes, it's gooey because it's draining. See usually the cyst is genetic. You're born with it. And later on in life, if there is trauma or added pressure like sitting down at a desk all day, it is likely to become infected. Even accumulation of hair and bacteria will cause it. Now when the infection gets too inflamed, it searches for a weak spot in the epidermal wall to release the pressure. But luckily there's a sinus at the top of your rump, so the infection usually finds that hole and releases itself there."

Dumbfounded, Dean half-lifted himself off the bed and peered at the doctor incredulously. "Basically you're saying I have a sinus infection in my ass?"

"Well, I wouldn't...well, yeah," the physician replied uncomfortably.

"Wonderful," Dean sighed exasperatedly falling back on his stomach, "Then can you just give me some _Sudafed_ and let's call it a day."

"Sorry Mr. Winchester, it's not that kind of sinus infection. The only way to get rid of it is to lance it. Give me a second, and I'll go get my knife," the doctor explained casually, turning to leave.

"Knife?" Dean cried out, alarmed. "Whoa! Hey! What do you mean knife?"

"I have to cut it open, get the infection out, so that way it will heal. It's the only way."

Dean's eyes quickly grew to the size of saucer plates. "You're shittin' me?" he squeaked, his voice taking on an unusually high-pitched level.

The doctor blanched at his profanity. "'Fraid not, son."

The eldest Winchester gulped. "Take your time," he squeaked again, "I'll be right here."

With a nod, the doctor left.

Dean raised his head up listening to the man's footsteps echo away. "Hell no, I ain't staying here." Immediately once he thought he were in the safe zone, he climbed off the bed, carefully making sure his wrap covered 'everything', and began making his way toward his clothes, the painful pressure causing him to make slow, stilted steps.

He was just about to slip a foot into the opened end of his jeans, when the doctor came back hastily carrying in several _Johnson and Johnson_ plastic-wrapped packages. The Johnny Depp look-a-like stopped at seeing Dean in his mid-escape, raising one very thick dark eyebrow. "Uh Mr. Winchester?"

"Damn, you're quick," Dean spat, disappointed that his _infection_ cost him time. He slowly trudged back to the table like a submissive slave ready for the inevitable punishment, resuming his original position and covering his backside once more with the wrap.

The doctor dropped most of the packages onto the counter, selecting a few from the pile, and breaking apart its contents' cellophane. He came back over with the still expressive smile carrying a few syringes, reminding Dean of a sadistic version of _Dr. Feelgood_. Sudden fearful feelings niggled and wormed, and he wanted nothing more than to make a break for it…but he stayed put understanding with his current hindrance, he wouldn't have gone far.

"Okay first what I'm going to do is numb it, and that involves four shots of numbing solution," _Crybaby_ told his patient instructionally taking off the wrap and exposing Dean's bare derriere once again. "First you'll feel a pinch and then a burning sensation."

"Ah that's just nice. That's exactly what I need, more sensation in that area," Dean replied sarcastically.

The doctor just stared at him, preparing the syringe. "I do have to warn you it might hurt."

Dean waved his hand. "I'm used to a daily dosage of pain. I'll be able to handle it. Bring it on," he slumped down further on the table, not at all preparing himself.

The doctor shrugged before inserting the needle into one side of the infected area.

Dean flinched as he felt the pinprick of the needle and the spreading of the solution, "Whoa."

As the plunger fell deeper and the solution continued to expand, all Dean became aware of was the puckering frown and the watery eyes marring his facial complexion. A vivid image of himself running and taking a leaping dunk into an ice bath took hold as red-hot fiery pangs bounced and pulsed with each second. The doctor wasn't kidding about the burning feeling. He grit his teeth as the sensation felt like an entire army of hornets were diving and stinging at one particular mark.

He exhaled a long breath, clenching his teeth. "You weren't kidding...about burning!"

"Here comes round two," the doctor piped ecstatically plunging down the second needle on the other side of Dean's left cheek.

Globs of sweat began to form on Dean's brow and he exhaled out another long breath. The second time was worse as the hornets now must've found laserguns to work with. "Whoa," he laughed. "Whoa doc. That's just...that's...yikes," his voice climbing an octave.

The solution continued to spread and the flare began to increase dramatically, making him tremble incessantly. He expelled out several more pants before finally giving in, "Whoa... WHOA...HOLY SH—"

~o()o~

A long chorus of shouts and obscene words echoed through the halls of the small doctor's clinic. Alarmed, Sam, who had been waiting patiently in the little lounge area, slowly lowered the magazine he was browsing through, eying the door where his brother disappeared through not too long ago wide-eyed. The cries sounded like the ones his brother would make. He looked around at the staff, somewhat embarrassed, but was surprised to see that the receptionists carried on with their work. Some of the other occupants in the room, however, were intrigued, and were gazing at the door with the same curiosity.

~o()o~

Dean couldn't do anything else but breath in and out of his mouth like a pregnant woman would do when giving birth. He usually was pain-tolerant, but this...this put a whole new perspective on pain in the ass. He couldn't understand it. So much for the bravado he usually kept for himself. The doc was now receding the third needle and once again, the fiery sensation brought forth its wrath.

Gasping, Dean turned to the doctor. "You're not...a....religious man, are ya?"

"No," the man shrugged, intrigued on why his patient would ask him that.

"Oh good," Dean smiled before bellowing, "JESUS CHRIST!"

_CryBaby_ couldn't help but laugh. He certainly wouldn't need coffee after attending to this patient. So far Mr. Winchester was the brunt of his entertainment of the morning that more or less woke him up. "Alright Dean, one more to go and then we can get rid of this thing once and for all."

"You don't do well with cheesy one-liners doc. Just stick to your medical lingo," Dean rasped rudely, his voice hoarse.

"Ready?"

"Get it over with," Dean gasped, his whole body tensing up.

The doctor obliged diving in the last needle.

~o()o~

And once again the hallway was filled with vulgar shouts and gruesome threats. Only now the shouts seemed to have increased in length and volume. The nurses and receptionists, who typically were used to this type of thing, all ceased their current activities and looked around interested. The waiting room inhabitants all looked up now afraid. A small boy in the far corner grabbed a hold of his mother and whimpered, "Mommy, I'm scared."

Sam grimaced recognizing that his brother was the culprit of the commotion. He slowly raised the magazine up past his head, so no one would see his crimson face darkening a few more shades. He only wished the doctor would hurry his procedure up so they can get the hell out of dodge.

~o()o~

It wasn't long before Dean emerged from the behind the door, slightly pale, and walking creepily with his legs spread apart like a penguin. Sam instantly stashed his magazine away and leapt up to meet his brother, who's only greeting was an irate scowl as he walked past.

Sam huffed giving the receptionist a curt nod of "sorry" before racing after his brother who was long out the door. He caught up with Dean's zombie pace and asked, "How're you feeling?"

The irritable scowl was still present, and appeared as though it had officially made its residence permanent. Dean glared from the corner of his eye. "I got a third hole, no thanks to you. How the hell do you think I'm feeling?"

Sam's eyebrows formed a 'V'. "What did he have to do?"

"Open me up, get the friggin' thing out," Dean replied monotonously.

"What was it?"

"I don't know! Something about a jeep. I don't want to remember at this point, cuz all I know is I can't feel my ass."

"Well then, how long did he say it was going to heal?"

"He didn't. He said it was _based on me_...bastard," Dean growled.

Sam laughed. "Okay, then did he prescribe you anything?"

Dean didn't answer but slapped the doctor's prescription note he received across Sam's chest, walking on in the direction of the Impala. Sam caught the paper before it fell and read _Percoset_, 325 mg. He bit his bottom lip. _With the way Dean's feeling, I'd_ _better hide the alcohol or Dean's gonna do something stupid._

~o()o~_  
_

The rest of the day had flown by in a blur. The spring air was set just right: not too chilly, not too warm. Swarms of crickets sung their nightly concert making the evening seem so peaceful. And the town's residents all went out celebrating in one of its annual local festivals, dancing and drinking, and having a casual good time. The boys wouldn't have known that for they were stuck in the motel all day. Dean had slept for most part of the day, high on pain meds, and Sam was catching up on some good-to-do research.

Soon night fell and Sam decided it was time to hit the sack. After his nightly ritual of brushing his teeth and dressing for bed, he quickly found his way underneath the scratchy covers. He hadn't closed his eyes for more than fifteen minutes when he was awoken by a distressed call from his brother. Jack-knifing into a sitting position, he learned the call was sounding from the bathroom. Sam immediately raced out of bed and barged into the small room, to find his brother in an awkward position bent over holding his pajama pants half-up, barely covering his backside.

"What? Are you okay?" Sam gasped, evidently concerned that something major was wrong.

"Yea," Dean mewled, appearing extremely uncomfortable. "But I need help."

Sam raised his eyebrows, surprised that his 'oh-so-macho-don't-need-anyone's-help' brother was admitting to the fact he needed assistance. "Okay? With what?"

A strained grimace flourished across Dean's face. It was apparent that whatever he was about to ask was incredibly humiliating. His brother took a long deep breath. "Um, I have to change it," he said in a hurried barely audible whisper.

"What?"

Dean huffed and spoke a little louder and a little less rushed. "I have to change it."

"Change what?"

"The bandage," Dean took another deep breath, imploring desperately into Sam's eyes. "I need you to take the gauze out of the hole and stuff some more back in."

Even though Sam knew what he meant, the comment still had him tense with awkward amusement. That sounded so wrong! He was tempting to burst with laughter, deep down hoping that what Dean had said was a joke. But the seriousness on his brother's face confirmed this was no prank.

Sam's jaw dropped. "Oh hell no. Hell no! I'm not...I don't want to be looking at your ass!"

"I don't want you looking at my ass either! But there's no one else around and it needs to be changed. I'd do it myself, but I can't see the friggin' hole!" Dean exclaimed, the rosy color in his cheeks intensifying.

"Dean, no! I ain't putting my fingers anywhere near it," Sam backed up with his hands in the air.

Dean sighed bowing his head down as if in defeat. "Please Sam," he spoke after a long moment of silence. "I know I always seem to make fun of you whenever you get prissy injuries. I know I don't help all that much and I'm sorry for that. But I would really...and I mean _really_ appreciate your help with this right now," he begged, his mossy-green eyes expressively beseeching help.

Sam sighed, "Of all places, dude."

"Tell me about it."

Exhaling out a huge reluctant breath, Sam eyed the ceiling with displeasure, understanding that this was his brother and he needed help—and as kin, it was his responsibility to assist whether he wanted to or not. _Especially with lovely moments like this one._

"Alright turn around."

Slowly Dean did so, revealing a sliver of gauze protruding out of an incision just below his butt-bone. Sam could see the outlines of where Dean ripped off the external bandage marked definitively in a square on both of his cheeks. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing...and from vomiting.

Realizing that this needed to be done and over with quick, Sam placed the tips of his fingers on the small bloody tip of the cloth and tugged.

Though it wasn't totally surprising, Sam had half-expected for his brother to start spitting out a string a curses, but not jump forward about three feet yelping like a Pomeranian high on helium. The cloth hardly made it out half an inch. This was not going to end well.

"Jeez Dean, he really stuffed it up there, didn't he?" Sam acknowledged, amazed at the doctor's handiwork.

"No shit!" Dean spat, panting for air.

"Okay, let's try again..."

"No, no, no, no, no. Give me a second," Dean waved at him, indicating to stand down.

Annoyed, Sam protested, "The faster we get it out, the faster we can get this done, and the faster I can get back to bed. Now don't be a baby."

Dean glowered at him. "Don't you call me a baby," he enunciated through clenched teeth.

"Then get your ass over here and let's finish this. Hey I can easily walk away, cuz I seriously don't want to do this either," Sam told him firmly.

Dean frowned at his brother. He realized that it wasn't entirely fair to be putting Sam through this, even if it was the bastard's fault he was suffering in the first place, but as such it wasn't like there was much choice. Grudgingly accepting that it needed to be taken care of and realizing that pitter-pattering over it would only make it seem more horrible, Dean slowly turned back around and braced himself.

Sam mimicked his same movement, grabbing a hold of the material tightly.

"Alright...one...two...three!"

~o()o~

A loud, high-pitched scream sounded from the lonely motel stationed along the deserted roadside lasting several long seconds. A coyote in the distance howled in suit of it, just as the wail faded.

~o()o~

"Ugh, gross," Sam frowned throwing the bloody wad of gauze he held between his two fingers into the nearest trashcan. Afterward he whirled around and witnessed his brother's body quivering, his skin stark white. "Dean? You okay?"

Still shaking waiting on the throb to subside, Dean squeaked, "I'm going to kill that damn doctor. I'm gonna tear him in two. Hurry up Sam!"

Sam rolled his eyes reaching for the box of gauze packets located on the sink. "Oh god," he grimaced looking at the bloody/pus-filled incision made at the top of his brother's backside. "You so owe me for this," he groused finishing the job.

After Dean was patched up with a new bandage and tape, Sam washed his hands and patted his brother's arm. "Alright, you're done. I don't want to hear any complaining. Now take your medicine and get back to bed."

Dean glowered at him once more, wanting to reply with one of his infamous smartass retorts, but none came to mind as he was intent on doing just that and stuffing as many pain meds in his mouth as he can and hitting the sack. He slowly made his way to bed, cautiously lying down on hardened mattress, curling in on his side. His bottom lip curled downward as another spike from the hole flared. This was going to be a long night. _Those pain meds better kick in soon!_

His brother came out and hopped into bed a few minutes later seemingly irritated. "That was gross Dean. I don't ever want to do that again."

Dean laughed nervously. "Oh nurse Sammy?"

"Oh no, what is it?" Sam asked, picking up in his brother's tone that there was something else.

"Uh, it's gotta be changed everyday," Dean said spitefully.

Sam huffed in disbelief. "You. Are. Kidding!"

"Nope."

"God, shoot me now!"

**Hope that wasn't too gross. I told ya, not for the squeamish. Yeah, I must've been insane for writing this, but it was fun making Dean squirm. My friend said he liked it, and his experience was just like that with the creepy doctor and everything. So for future reference, don't get hurt on your tailbone! Or for that matter, don't sit on your tush all day either! Again, hope you liked it. See you soon!**


End file.
